


Dark Appetites

by beautifulwhensarcastic



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Biting, Blood Drinking, Blood Play (a tiny glimpse of it), F/M, Gray Morality, Resolved sexual tension but unresolved plot, Sire Bond, Steve is dramatic but Peggy is even worse, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:20:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27308350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifulwhensarcastic/pseuds/beautifulwhensarcastic
Summary: Peggy avoided asking anyone for help, but this time there’s no other choice. However, entering vampire’s stronghold forces her to face darkness and feelings she’s perhaps not equipped to deal with.
Relationships: Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Comments: 13
Kudos: 59





	Dark Appetites

**Author's Note:**

> This story started as a snippet I wrote on my train trip two years ago. I didn't poke at it until this year. It was never meant to be developed into a full story, but I wanted to write something for Halloween and this world seemed perfect to use. So a 200 words snippet became this - whatever this is, LOL 
> 
> Hope you'll enjoy this mess! Happy Halloween!

Billows of dark clouds hung heavily above the city. Crowns of skyscrapers in the distance disappeared in grey smudges. The air seemed cold and thick, filling Peggy's lungs with icy lead.

She wheezed, pain crushing her chest. Heart that's been dead for over two hundred years squeezed in a thunderous beat, nearly knocking her off her feet.

Somehow she managed to climb the last few steps of a narrow brownstone. She leaned heavily against the door and knocked – the sound faint. Her fingers ached with a barest movement.

Cheek plastered against the cool surface, she tried to fight the overwhelming dizziness. If someone moved on the other side of the door, she couldn't tell. She used to be able sensing presence from a distance, hear the sweet melody of a pulse calling out to take a sip.

Now Peggy was deprived of almost all her senses.

The door opened and she fell into someone's arms.

Erskine was old now, decades older than the last time they met, but his body seemed much stronger than Peggy's.

It shouldn't.

"Margaret?" His warm, familiar voice did nothing to soothe her. Fear already has rooted itself too deep within her. An emotion she once was sure was out of her repertoire.

He kept one arm around her, barely supporting her weight. With his free hand he brushed Peggy's matted hair from her face then touched her cheek.

"What are you- you're burning up!"

She felt that heat. It’s been consuming her from the inside for days, and each day felt as if it couldn’t get any worse. But it did. No amounts of fluids, no hole in a cold ground eased the burning.

Even her lips felt burnt; so dry and cracked that drops of her own salty sweat caused irritation.

Too weak to speak, Peggy sagged in his arms. Erskine grunted, but held her tight. He managed to pull her inside and carry over onto a sofa. Buttery soft, wornout fabric grazed her oversensitive skin.

"Help m-me," Peggy rasped out, eyes shut in pain.

There was nowhere else to turn. While a few courts prided on the most experienced, wise scholars and healers, Peggy wouldn't go to them. She trusted no one's knowledge as much as Erskine's.

She also knew she wouldn't survive the journey.

It was quite a miracle, if not Peggy's plain stubborness, she didn't die on her way here.

Always honest in his statements, though subtle and polite, Erskine said - "I'm afraid my knowledge might not be enough at this point."

There was no time to ask Peggy what exactly has happened, if she'd even be able to say this much. Every little move looked painful for her. Whatever the reason for the impossible illness it was clear the process reached too far to stop it with his simple methods.

Blue marks blotched the crooks of Peggy's elbows, a linear bruise crossed her forehead. Nothing was healing.

That alone was alarming, but it's the wheezing breath and a faint echo of a pulse which made Erskine dread the truth.

Peggy was... beginning to live.

But for her it also meant dying a true death.

"Margaret," he brought towels drenched in cold water and arranged them around her, the small one over her forehead. Though he doubted it would fight the increasing warmth hurting her body.

Erskine possessed vast knowledge and skill, but never had he witnessed a process similar to this. Maybe if she fell under his care in the early stages he could provide help on his own. In this state, however, a darker power was required.

Lots of power. Though even that was merely a chunk of a chance to save her.

"It's best if-"

"No!" With remnants of strength Peggy protested.

Delirious in fever, she still knew where extreme despair lead their kind. Whose were the arms they searched for safety and protection. The source of relief and immense power.

"Not _him_. Don't take me to him." She choked on the next intake of breath.

Orange spots danced in the dark beneath her eyelids, fading quickly until black was all she saw. Nothing followed.

Peggy was unable to open her eyes. Tried to, but couldn’t. With passing time the sounds dulled too. She was barely aware of Erskine’s shushed voice. If he touched her, or changed the towels, she didn’t know. Felt nothing. For seconds, maybe hours? She couldn’t tell.

Locked in a cocoon of darkness and ache, Peggy readied herself for death. Ultimate this time.

It could be peaceful with a blanket of thick darkness swallowing her, if not for the pain constantly crushing her cells. And there was nothing beyond that - silence and pain.

Suddenly, molten heat filled her mouth and throat. A thick, tasteless liquid coating her insides.

As hot as it was at the first sip, it rapidly cooled. Cold followed each swallow, filling Peggy’s body with a blissful numbness.

Dropping from scorching heat to a freezing edge thrust her body into shock. Her back arched, limbs twisted in spasms. Her lips opened in a soundless scream.

Then she went lax. A puppet cut off its strings.

Peggy felt heavy. Pain wasn’t ripping her apart anymore, but it throbbed within her. Her senses were still damaged, but she reckoned someone lifting her up. And the heaviness, oh the heaviness spread. Until she went fully unconscious in someone's strong arms.

* * *

There was no ache when Peggy regained consciousness. Her eyelids were heavy, but she had no trouble opening her eyes. Only her vision seemed blurry. Not that there was much to see anyway.

Unless she went blind, the room she was in was shrouded in darkness. Not a single source of light in it.

She felt weak and tired, but it was far preferable to the agony she still remembered ripping her apart piece by piece. Her limbs felt lighter, if only somewhat tired.

Bed covers beneath her fingers were soft and smooth, they rustled when she slowly moved.

Peggy’s hearing and sight were still impaired, the smell, however, regenerated. Or perhaps it was broken, too, considering the whiff she caught.

A bracing wave of sea and pine, cold to the bone.

Peggy’s hands clenched on the sheets. Her mouth salivated, suddenly tingling with remnants of rich, earthy flavor.

An illusion, she told herself. Merely a flake of a sweaty memory, for she hadn't tasted a single sip of him for decades.

Irritated with unwanted thoughts, Peggy struggled to sit up.

Her eyes roamed the room, but not a shape stood out. Nothing that could indicate the source of the scent.

She wondered if it soaked the covers, if the bed they put her in belonged to... No, the bed felt nothing other than cold and the sheets were scentless, probably a fresh set changed just before her arrival.

“You’re like a weakling.”

Peggy’s head whipped to the side, following direction of the voice. A voice which, to her chagrin, still sent a shiver down her spine. After all those years.

She couldn’t make his silhouette in the dark, but his eyes when he looked at her were an unmistakable glow. Iridescent blue irises with a thin, silver rim.

“Steve.” She couldn’t help the waver in her voice. Come to think of it, she couldn’t recall a time his name sounded emotionless on her lips.

In return his voice was flat, impassionate.

“Peggy.”

She didn’t expect a warm welcome, not after nearly a century of dead silence on her part. His indifference still hurt, though.

Peggy leaned back against the headboard and pulled the covers up to her chin to hide as much of her skin as possible. He could make her feel naked when in full clothing. Now the power imbalance felt even greater due to her incapacity.

She never dealt well with that – being in a lower position. For a while she wondered herself if that was part of the reason she ran away. Because she'd never be stronger, or hold more power.

Truth was, she'd never come close to his power. Yet Steve never used that against her.

She had her own thoughts and insecurities to blame for the stubborn refusal to reach out, though he tried getting her back for years.

If not to him as a lover, she could've returned to the court into protection of the people who cared for her. In hindsight, that could save her from trouble and pain. Moreover, they'd help in her desperate quest to uncover the secret behind her family's sudden disappearance.

But Peggy always did things her way, afraid to lose even an ounce of control. Or pride.

As she did now.

“I feel better.” She said slowly, adamant on hiding how his presence affected her. “Was Erskine able-”

“No.” Steve held her gaze. “You were dying, there was no method of healing.”

Implication slammed into her chest like a ram. She lifted fingers to her lips, realizing the taste her mouth savored wasn't just a memory, but the lingering flavor of her Sire's blood. Steve's blood.

Blood that made her a vampire, that filled her senses as he filled her body, now bound her again.

Anger washed over gratitude, but she pressed her lips not to snap at Steve. He saved her from true death, even Peggy couldn't belittle the situation. She didn't wish to die. Wouldn't claim so even out of spite.

That he fed her his own blood, however, aggravated her.

She tried to sever their connection for decades, wallowing in pitiful yearning. While the bond between the Sire and a vampire was so strong the need to keep in touch remained for centuries, Peggy had it worse.

Because he also had her heart.

“I see.” Peggy swallowed. She couldn't grit out a thank you. Not yet. Judging by the set of Steve's jaw he wasn't expecting one.

He looked more ready to charge after her if she tried to flee than caring for her opinion on the matter. This time he wouldn't be lenient either.

Peggy was gone for around eighty years. While she knew it hurt Steve, she never considered it might push him into darkness. Deeper darkness, for he always balanced on the edge. There were only a few vampires as old as Steve, but only he seemed to hone flickers of humanity inside him.

That was before she pushed him away.

Peggy didn't claim to have such power over him to be the sole reason for his falling, but if the roles were reversed and he cut her so deeply, she'd turn merciless.

“What now?” She tilted her head to the side, but still couldn't see more than the outline of his face and brilliance of his eyes.

It took centuries for immortality to sink in so far. Natasha in over eight hundred years gained only a few speckles of ruby red in her grey eyes – which was enough to make her look more eerie and dangerous.

No one's eyes glowed like Steve's. At least no one Peggy met.

“Rest.” Steve's command held no softness, a cold contrast to the way she remembered him speaking to her when they were together. “Erskine will see to you tomorrow. Assessment on your making progress is in order.”

“You suspect I need to be made from scratch?” Peggy wasn't thrilled at the prospect of undergoing the whole process of making a vampire.

It wasn't painful, but required too much of blood sharing intimacy with Steve.

She wasn't sure either of them wanted to suffer that pull.

Honestly, she was surprised he came at Erskine's call. He fed her his blood with no certainty it will even work.

“That's yet to be determined.” Steve moved, she heard the shift of the chair he sat on.

As if on cue, someone knocked. Steve opened the door. His silhouette caught in the light coming from the corridor. Perhaps it was the game of shadows and light, but he seemed bigger.

It was a myth that vampires forever stayed exactly as the moment their mortal bodies were turned. They became immortal, process of growing old exchanged with _growing into_ immortality. Their bodies could change physically – get sickly thin, or gain in bulk, though it took a lot of dedication and years to reach visible effects.

Someone stepped inside, but Peggy was too focused on the breadth of Steve's shoulders to pay them attention.

Only when the door closed and someone's sure, yet soft steps passed next to the bed, Peggy turned her head. In a swift move the window courtains were pulled apart, letting in a silvery shimmer of late night.

Soft light filled the side of the room, casting over Steve as well. With stern face, his arms crossed over his chest and feet planted apart, he looked the barbarian leader Suyin once named him. She was perhaps the only other vampire close to his age, though something told Peggy even Suyin's sophisticated, imperial court came to be at least a thousand years after Steve's becoming.

It was hard for Peggy not to stare at him. However, presence of unknown man helped shifting her attention. Partially.

“Madam.” The man bowed his head respectfully.

Golden threads in emerald green fabric of his robe contrasted with his dark skin. Unblemished ebony glowing in moonlight. His hair a crown of dark ringlets and his eyelids painted with rich, jewel shades.

He was so young. Of age, but very young.

And very mortal.

Peggy shifted her gaze from him to Steve who, in turn, looked anywhere but at either of them. Tension pinched his features; that tick in his jaw she used to laugh exasperatedly at and kiss it until his frown lessened.

“Feed.” Steve said in an icily composed tone.

It struck her now. Somehow she forgot how the court functions. When she was on her own, occasionally staying with other nomadic vampires, they had to seduce or mesmerize people to get a bite. Those who stayed loyal to the court had their own “supplies.”

Well treated and often pampered humans who willingly gave their blood to their vampire caregivers. The higher in the hierarchy a vampire was, the better rewards.

Belonging to Steve's very limited pool was for some a fairytale come true.

“I drank from you, it should keep me for days.” Peggy wasn't opposed to feeding, but she felt reluctant to drink from Steve's personal donor. In his guest chambers. In front of him.

There was also the part of her that didn't want to lose the potent taste of him.

Quicker than a blink of an eye, Steve was by her side. Leaning over her. He could snap her neck with a flick of a wrist, rip her heart out and not strain a muscle. But he brushed a single digit over her cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You forget I'm inside you.” He murmured. If she wasn't dead, Peggy would flush. “I know your hunger is growing. You were unable to feed when you were dying, am I right? So cut the crap, Peggy.”

Steve's fingers ghosted over her skin for a moment longer. His own lips parted, she could almost see his canines.

Then he was gone. The door shut behind him quietly.

With a sigh, Peggy turned her head to look at the man beside her bed. He said nothing, but there was a curious gleam in his eyes. What he just witnessed had to be unusual in some way. Then she remembered no one pushed Steve's buttons as fast as she did.

“What's your name?” She asked, rubbing at the cheek where she still felt Steve's touch.

“Naquel.” His voice was deeper than she expected.

“How long have you been here?” Peggy hoped to sound simply polite, not giving away the sudden urge to know how many beautiful companions Steve had, or if any of them warmed his bed.

“Two years, Madam.” Naquel replied, his eyes twinkling with amusement. She suspected he was as smart as polite. Steve liked people with spunk.

Before she asked another question, Naquel untied his robe and let it fall to the floor. This, too, Peggy had forgotten. How often feeding led to or happened during sex.

Possibly one of the reasons some loved to live a donor life – spoiled and thoroughly fucked.

Not Peggy, though. The only time she drank blood when fucking was with Steve.

“Wrist is enough.” She raised her hand and stopped Naquel before he dropped his underwear.

He gave a court nod and sat on the bed, offering his hand to her. He didn't seem surprised, or offended, which made Peggy wonder if Steve separated sex and blood as well. For nearly a century?

 _So damn dramatic_ , she thought before sinking her fangs into Naquel's warm flesh.

It didn't take long to feel mildly sated. She sealed the puncture wounds with a lick of her tongue, feeling a bit awkward when Naquel flashed her a brilliant, warm smile. He put the robe back on, bowed before her again and left.

Normally after feeding she'd have more energy, a wicked burst which tempted to do equally wicked things. But her body still felt tired and sore. She settled under the covers, closing her eyes and allowing her consciousness to drift.

Though caught in deep sleep, she sensed when Steve returned to the chamber. A pull on their bond that was both comforting and painful.

“Sleep.” He said, as if noticing the little distress in her dead heart.

Her stupid, battered body complied easily. Was it because of his order, or because his presence made her feel safe, Peggy wasn't sure.

* * *

When she woke up the lights in the room were on. Bright and warm. Erskine was sitting in the armchair by the fireplace, reading.

“You slept peacefully. That's good.” He looked up from his book with a smile.

There was always something soothing about Erskine. Even when he was a thirty years old scientist with bravado matching his knowledge.

“You could've woken me.” Peggy slowly sat up and rubbed her hands over her face.

She felt much better. Almost as good as before she found herself in hell pit. She delighted in the cool, balanced temperature of her body; in the graceful strength she felt beneath her skin.

She could hear Erskine's steady heartbeat from across the room.

“Better not disturb the dead.” Erskine's deadpan tone made Peggy snort.

“But you're here to check how dead I am, so we might as well get started.” She always had trouble with patience. More so now, when her state determined how close to Steve she'll have to be.

He checked her temperature, then spent almost ten minutes with a stethoscope listening to the hollow silence in Peggy's chest. Not a single beat of heart.

Peggy had to grip the sheets, nearly ripping the fabric, when Erskine examined her canines. Light pulse of his thumb against her fangs was enough to cause a surge of hungry frenzy.

He took a sample of Peggy's blood, which he analyzed under a microscope set on a small table when the door opened.

Steve walked in. Natasha right behind him. Her shimmering, black jumpsuit flowed like water, stretching her every graceful move into a slow-motion illusion.

“Abraham. Have you finally changed your mind?” She stepped close to Erskine, but made sure not to block the light he needed. “I promise I'll be gentle.”

He chuckled, shaking his head a little.

“I'm afraid even if I were made I couldn't keep up with your tastes, Natasha.”

His refusal to become a vampire had been a topic of heated discussion among the court for the past three decades. Peggy wasn't present to hear it herself, but even on her nomadic routes she kept some links who occasionally sold her some information.

Erskine wanted to stay and die human.

“Natasha can barely keep up with herself,” Steve grinned and for a flash of a second Peggy was reminded of the playful side of him.

“At least I don't suffer ennui.” Natasha grinned then turned her focus onto Peggy. Her smirk gone, replaced with a cold mask. “You look like poorly chewed meal, Carter.”

“Are you here to finish me off, or did you just miss me?” Peggy and Natasha's relationship was more of a truce with occasional good fun, than actual friendship.

Already six hundred at the time Peggy was made, Natasha was a mistrustful spider adamant on protecting Steve's soft heart from – what she considered back then – a bad choice. Peggy took it as cynicism as Natasha never settled with anyone for longer.

Even her on-and-off relationship with Bucky never lasted longer than forty years at the time.

Peggy wondered if they were back together now.

“Haven't decided yet.” Natasha shrugged. She crossed her arms over chest and gave Peggy a thorough, assessing look. Thin brows drew in a frown. “So what, or rather who did that to you?”

Peggy expected questions at some point. Preferably later, when she had regained strength to stand a chance in a face-off. But there was no way to avoid it. Or to lie to them. Steve would know the instant she tried to bullshit her way out.

With a sigh, Peggy tilted her head back. She stared at the draping of the heavy, velvet canopy, focusing on it to avoid seeing Steve's face when she spoke.

“Zola.”

A hiss of breath. Natasha's.

Steve remained silent which, Peggy knew, wasn't a good sign.

For as long as vampires existed there was a counterbalance of self-appointed hunters. Most harmless, standing little to no chance against a determined vampire. Some managed to track and kill nomadic vamps, usually if they hunted in a group.

But then a hundred years ago an ambushed vampire made a catastrophic decision to turn one of the hunters. He bit Johann Schmidt and forced his blood into his system, but the transition had no chance to settle.

The creature that came out of it was neither human, nor vampire.

Unfinished transition twisted an already deranged man, turning Schmidt into a vicious, dangerous beast. He fed on blood, though had no need for it. Just to taste it and to use its power.

His previous mission to get rid of vampiric abomination became a race to become the only powerful being and rule humans himself.

There were many power-drunk, as well lead by fear who joined him. Like Arnim Zola.

Steve killed Schmidt. They managed to wipe out most of his followers. But not all.

Despite going underground, it turned out Zola worked as furiously as before. And he found a new way to kill vampires.

Or, as he put it himself, to _cure_ them.

“He took Michael's descendants.” Peggy swallowed a bile rising in her throat. “He took more families of existing vampires in Eastern Europe. I think that's how he had worked on his formula. Using human blood with similar DNA patterns to reverse vampirism.”

“But no one survived.” Steve's voice was hollow.

“None but me.” Her attempt at bitter laugh sounded more like a broken sob.

She didn't hear or feel Steve move, but suddenly found herself within his arms. She hid her face in the crook of his neck, clenching her fingers on the silky fabric of his shirt.

It's been so long, _so long_ since anyone held her. Though distance was a choice Peggy made herself, it didn't ease her need for simple, affectionate contact. A need her Sire responded to.

There was a sour thought that he did it only because of that bond. A Sire's duty to care for the newly made.

“You didn't survive.” Erskine said, his voice unusually grave.

Keeping an arm around her, Steve turned to look at him. Peggy lifted her head as well. She dropped her hands, but couldn't force herself to move away from him entirely. Even if he held her out of obligation.

“Your body didn't fight off whatever it was they gave you.” Erskine took his glasses off and wiped it with the corner of his jacket. “You were made. Re-made, if you will.”

“But your progress into vampirism? It's on a level of a newly made, baby vampire. Your canine development, your blood cells, sensitivity of your skin – it all indicates that. Two hundred years you had on your account previously is gone. You're starting from point zero.”

Even before she went awol, Peggy was one of the youngest vampires in Steve's court. Not weakin physical sense, but far from powers that walked the stronghold's corridors and grounds. Now she dropped even lower.

Steve stood up. He clenched his fists so hard veins on his hands protruded. It took a few seconds for him to consciously relax his muscles.

“How do we proceed from here?” He asked, once again cold and stoic.

“She'll need regular intakes of your blood. In small doses, not to shock her system. Also feeding when hunger strikes, like with any just-made vampire. I don't expect any complications, but it is a new situation for us all so I'd prefer to check on Peggy once a week.”

He could poke at her and take samples daily, if it saved her from drinking Steve's blood. That one time was enough to ignite the longing. Regular intakes meant emotional masochism.

Taking another vampire's blood could be as clinical as parties wanted, though it bore an undertaste of pleasure regardless. With a Sire it always held some intimate closeness.

With Steve it was a little death.

In silence, Peggy watched Erskine and Natasha leave. He was a bit hunched, his steps slower than they used to be, but Natasha kept close to him like she rarely did with anyone else. Peggy wondered if there had been something more between them in the past. Natasha had a thing for brains.

Steve walked them to the door, but stayed inside. He closed the door, clenching his fingers on the knob. With his back to her, Peggy could only imagine the tension displaying on his face. But when he turned he betrayed nothing.

He uncuffed and rolled up his sleeve as he neared the bed.

Peggy's mouth dried at the sight. She told herself it's only the blood thirst.

“It's not necessary.” Instinct drew her away from a predator prowling her way, but her back was already against the wooden headboard. No chance to put more distance between them.

“Taking it from the vein, I mean.” She clarified when his eyes flashed with annoyance.

“I'm not dripping into a fucking cup.” Steve stood above her.

It was enough of a power move to underline who held control in this situation.

“It's not me being an asshole. You've gotten yourself into this mess on your own, Peggy.” He merely leaned forward, left arm braced on the carved wood just beside her head. His voice heated with emotion. “Zola did this to you and he will pay for it. But it were your choices that landed you in this shit. Now you have to deal with consequences.”

“Don't you think I know that?” Peggy hissed at him.

“I think you'd like to view this-” he pointed between them- “as a punishment, or me being a dick getting back at you. It's easier to make me the bad guy than admit, for once, that you made the wrong choice by leaving.”

Words stuck in Peggy's throat. There were things she wanted to spit at him. She clutched the sheet around her tighter, afraid she'd give into the urge to slap Steve. For which he'd retaliate this time, she had no doubt.

“You can stew in your bitter thoughts as much as you like, but you will follow instructions.” He pushed his right arm to her lips. “Drink.”

Peggy glared at him, the last resource of defiance she held on to. He didn't budge.

She dropped her gaze down, staring at his bare forearm as if it could bite her head off.

A thin web of blue lines on the inner side of his wrist became clearer, darker too the longer she looked at it. Her mouth salivated, gums above canines itching lightly. Peggy parted her lips.

A thrill rippled down to her core when she brushed the soft skin. Steve's scent invaded her in a rush, clouding her previously angry thoughts. Then she felt that flow of liquid power just a bite away. It was all it took to sink her teeth into him.

Steve's blood was like no one else's. A single sip made her whole body thrum.

She shut her eyes close and did her best to stop a moan that threatened to form deep in her throat.

His other hand cupped the back of her head, holding her in place until he decided she's had enough. Just like he used to guide her on his cock.

Peggy's eyes snapped open at the thought. She wasn't sure it was hers, ignited by the intimacy of the moment; or Steve's, slipping into her along with his blood.

He didn't allow her to pull away for a long moment after. Then almost abruptly withdrew his arm.

Steve licked the puncture wounds himself and it felt like a slap to the face. But then with his index finger he tilted her chin up, his face so close to hers now.

There were smudges of blood around Peggy's lips. He wiped them with his thumb, gathering the flavor back between her parted lips. She flicked out her tongue, licking his digit clean.

“Good.” He murmured, transfixed on her mouth.

Peggy's hurt pride tempted to spit at him, but there was a stronger, older part of her that enjoyed the stillness and intensity of the moment.

When Steve finally stepped back she let out a shaky sigh. His blood was a molten heat breaching every cell in her body. Good thing she was in bed, her legs might give out otherwise.

“Someone will fetch you some clothes.” Steve said, rolling his sleeve back down. “I have your old belongings too, but I figure you'd prefer modern clothes than what you wore the last time you were in the court.”

The fact he kept her things surprised Peggy. Though she expected them being stored in dusty chests in moldy dungeons.

“I'm free to walk?” She asked. A bit too snarky in response to Steve's rather polite words.

“You are a part of my court, you're free to roam the stronghold as any other.” He merely glanced her way as he cuffed the sleeve. “But as a new vampire and deserter you aren't allowed outside the walls.”

“Deserter?” Peggy frowned. She was no soldier to be court-martialed for simply walking away. Especially since it wasn't a whim, but obligation to her family.

“Court laws.” Steve crossed his arms. He seemed awfully relaxed. It annoyed her.

“You forgot about them, too? A vampire over fifty years into making can leave the court for whatever reason, _after_ an official request, written or spoken. You made no requests.”

Vampires were rarely denied their right to march away from the court. Only if they proved dangerous to the society, or too valuable for the ruler to let them go. Otherwise, free will was most respected.

“This is ridiculous!” Peggy sat up on her knees. The sheet slid off her back, but she didn't care for her partial nudity at the moment.

“It's the law. Archaic, but still law. Which you stomped all over.” His eyes darkened again. “Consequences of your actions didn't touch only you, Peggy. There has to be atonement.”

  
  


* * *

She wasn't being petulant, Peggy told herself that for the few days she stayed in the chamber despite being free to roam and having clothes to do so.

It brought no victory sitting secluded since Steve visited her regularly to feed her anyway.

It did, however, protect her from interacting with members of the court she'd undoubtedly meet walking around the stronghold. People she knew, but was afraid to see looking at her with distaste or pity.

Other than Steve and Erskine, she was visited only by Naquel. She needed human blood too. Though Peggy didn't feel quite comfortable with the arrangement, Naquel proved to be a pleasant companion.

His greatest trait was his ignorance of her backstory.

Oh, she knew the court buzzed with gossip. So the news and twisted versions of Peggy's story had to reach Naquel as well, but he never shown anything other than warm interest in her as an individual person.

He even got cheeky within the few days, spreading on her bed like a starfish and commenting on the ugly canopy.

Peggy liked it. Both the canopy and the human boy.

But she was becoming restless. And curious. Each day she itched to peek outside the room. Until finally she decided to do so.

With head held high, Peggy walked the well known corridors. Color schemes and some details changed over the course of eighty years, but the labyrinth of halls, nooks and inner gardens was the same. It was as light as she remembered, while still maintaining the raw practicality of a stronghold.

She snuck up a steep, spiral staircase onto an open high wall between two watchtowers. From there she glanced down.

On one side there was an inner courtyard with a shimmering, shallow pool and lush blooms in sandstone baskets. A few women sat on the edge of the pool, their bare feet splashing in the water.

On the other side troops practiced in a wide space, bare of anything other than weapons. Divided into three groups, soldiers trained hand to hand combat. Supervising leaders watched on, every once in a while yelling out a harsh command.

Even this high above them, Peggy recognized Bucky. His silhouette was as unmistakable as Steve's. So was his uniform, with its trademark black and silver as opposed to everyone's dark blue.

Out of all the members of the court Bucky was the one who could understand her most – and for that reason she feared talking to him.

The court consisted of people loyal to Steve, devoted to him, but all of them were here by choice not by blood. High in hierarchy vampires who pledged allegiance to him, others who followed their Sires and became loyal by acquisition. Perhaps, in a sense, their fealty had a greater value as it was given completely freely.

Peggy and Bucky were different. They were the only two vampires ever made by Steve himself.

They were the only ones with a blood bond to him.

A bond that reinforced anew with each feeding.

Peggy glared at Steve each time he came into her room, but somehow didn't object further. There was no point in making a fuss if she'd lose every time anyway. She also didn't want him to call her out on a lie if she claimed to not like it.

The truth was she was close to becoming addicted to him again. To his blood, yes, but most of all to his presence. Being in such proximity to Steve came too easy. And her body liked it too much.

Previous day, Peggy drank from him while sitting between his legs, her back to his chest. Steve's mouth was warm and wet on her ear, a sharp fang grazed her lobe as she fed from his wrist. His other hand splayed on her thigh. If he inched his fingers closer to her core he'd find her soaked.

She battled with her need for a few hours after Steve left, until she relented and got herself off. Biting on a pillow to muffle her moans.

When she chased the trail following her family's tragedy, anger and determination kept her urges dormant. Later, when the investigation relied on loose strands and ghost stories, when Peggy chose to live in a nomadic way, the longing reappeared.

No one seemed desirable, though.

She tried a few times, with various lovers – both human and vampire – but couldn't force herself to go through. There was always something blocking her. An ugly revulsion despite feeling pleasure.

When she felt angry with herself for that, she convinced herself Steve didn't have that problem. She fed herself with hurtful images of him easily taking lovers to wipe away the taste of her.

Then she'd feel a tug deep within her. Steve would never do what she tried to. He was too dramatic for that.

And loved her too much.

Now she wasn't so sure of his love. Though she suspected he still desired her. He'd keep her at distance if he didn't.

So if they both had that nearly century old itch to scratch, why not do it?

If she was sentenced to who knows how many years in the stronghold with Steve's blood pushing her on a high, she might as well get other benefits from it.

Peggy walked back into the main part of the stronghold and from there directed toward the left wing. Steve's main office used to be in that part. A huge place which supposedly served as a war room back in the medieval centuries when vampiric bloodwars devastated the continent.

It was inevitable to meet other people, especially in the common areas she walked through. Peggy felt their eyes on her, but paid it no mind. Those who passed her greeted her with an acknowledging nod. Which she politely reciprocated.

Somehow no one was bold enough to approach her, or spit venom straight to her face. She liked to think they were afraid of her.

“Peggy!” She was suddenly turned and crushed in a bear hug. So strong it even pulled her a little off her feet.

That someone snuck up on her told a lot about her regression, much to Peggy's dismay. But she chose to see it as the assailant's high skill than her own current weakness.

It wasn't a lie, after all. She knew all of his abilities. Peggy didn't need to see his face to recognize him.

“Dugan, put me down!” She slapped him on the shoulder, kicking her feet in the air.

He complied with a booming laugh.

Peggy looked up at him. He didn't change at all, kept even his out-of-date mustache. His uniform had the distinctive emblem of a courier, meaning he was on scouting duty. Probably in and out of the stronghold in express speed.

“It's good to have you back.” Dugan grinned at her, adjusting the strap of the bag over his shoulder. “I'm going to tell the guys. We'll find a way to get back home for a longer period, so we can celebrate properly.”

Vampires couldn't really get drunk, their metabolism too fast, but Peggy felt close to that state whenever she agreed to their merry band's company.

“Your team's on recon duty again?” Howling Commandos were a unique unit. A patchwork of various skills combined to form a team perfect at sneaking through territories, or wrecking havoc.

“We are the best.” He twisted his mustache, causing Peggy to snort a laugh.

“That you are.” She nodded. Not only had she read reports and interacted with them for decades, but witnessed it first hand too.

Her smile faltered a little at the memory of their last meeting. Not so long ago, in fact.

“Does Steve know?” Peggy lowered her voice. “About Hungary?”

She knew it was a risk to ask Howlies for help, but without them she wouldn't get across the border of Laszlo's heavily guarded territory. Help they shouldn't provide, since it was all without Steve's approval.

Howlies created a diversion, focusing Maximoff twins' attention on their antics along the border while Gabe helped Peggy cross inside.

“Know what?” Dugan made an innocent face and rocked on his heels.

Peggy sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. Out there she didn't think much of the consequences awaiting them if Steve found out. It struck her only now how close it came to treason. And they still chose to help her.

“Thank you.” She touched Dugan's shoulder tenderly then patted it. “Now go, before I get an earful for distracting you in your duties.”

“If only we could blame it all on you.” Dugan laughed. He leaned down to give her another hug (gentler this time). When he pulled back he saluted her.

“Wait for us, Pegs! Steal a barrel of wine!”

Still smiling and shaking her head, Peggy watched him stride away. Somehow she felt lighter in her steps as she resumed her previous direction. The short meeting with Timothy reminded her not everyone judged or hated her around here.

Perhaps the greatest tension was the one Peggy created herself.

And it snapped her straight like a string when she pushed Steve's office door open.

Steve was sitting behind his desk – a massive, dark wood polished so thoroughly it seemed a glassy stone. Papers in front of him and a gold fountain pen in his hand, he seemed focused on whatever he was writing. A composed statue of power.

Beside his desk was a woman.

On her knees, halfnaked.

Frilly layers of pink skirt were fanned around her. She was bare above the waist. Long, fair hair cascaded down her back. In her hands she held a crystal chalice; its rim placed right below her nipple, catching slow drops of blood trickling from a bite on her breast.

Peggy froze on the spot. She and Steve had indulged in some debauchery in the past, but never like this.

Though she was aware of how dangerous Steve was, cruelty used to be caged deep within him. It rarely surfaced - and if, that was limited to battles.

“Peggy.” Steve looked up at her. Without a sign of embarrassement, or guilt.

She glared at him, but he remained unmoved. One eyebrow quirked. The bastard, was challenging her.

Peggy turned her attention to the girl. Her fingers were slightly trembling, but otherwise she made no sound of protest. Her blood dripped slowly, but the glass was almost half full meaning she had to be here for a while.

Peggy walked over. She ripped the chalice from the girl's hands then licked her hand and rubbed saliva over the bite mark to seal the wound.

“Go.” She snapped at the girl, who (to Peggy's surprise) remained glued to the spot.

Big, blue eyes looked Steve's way. Peggy noticed him giving an approving nod. Shaking harder than before, the girl clumsily got up. She grabbed her blouse and clutched it to her chest as she tiptoed out of the office.

“This is how you play nowadays?” Peggy asked Steve, barely controlling the anger behind her words. Not sure why she felt on the edge of fury. What he did with willing partners was up to him.

Yet it irked Peggy to think of it.

What worried her most, though, was Steve's nonchalant approach toward dark leanings he displayed.

Quenching sudden anger, she brought the glass up to her nose and sniffed. The girl's blood smelled of sweetness, but was contaminated with putrid fear.

“Tormenting fragile flowers like her?” She scrunched her nose and set the glass on the desk. “She was scared, Steve!”

“Good.” His calm reply shocked her.

Steve remained motionless for a pause more. When he moved it was unrushed; a graceful dance of hands. He put the pen aside and slowly leaned back in his chair, fingers resting atop carved wood.

Like this, he looked all the ruthless predator she considered him to become.

“Lucrezia,” he spoke again, “needs to reunite with fear and fight or fly instinct. Less than a year ago she'd beg you to whip her and lick the blood off her back.”

Peggy stared at him. It was a dubious insinuation. The girl who just ran away looked more innocent and fragile than pain-starved person Steve described. Then again, Steve never restored to lies.

Masochists often found themselves content living with older, more dangerous vampires, but there was a line between that arrangement and broken victims who became toys instead of being partners.

“Lucrezia and her brother Romain were rescued from Adrien Everton's house.” Steve explained, a frown forming at the unpleasant memory. The way the vampire's name rolled out on his tongue said all about Steve's distaste for him.

“They were in his grasp for almost two years.”

Peggy has heard of Everton's sick tastes. Some vampires, like some humans, were balancing on edge between dark taste and pure cruelty. Some kept it leashed. Others, like Everton, indulged.

To be his captive for two years? It would break anyone's mind.

He was smart, though. There were previous attempts to judge and sentence him, but people he fed from then were so deeply manipulated and addicted to him they never spoke against him. Then they disappeared, never to be found.

“Bucky freed him of a few limbs. Head included.” Steve said grimly. She heard the dark, satisfied undertone to it. He felt no regret.

“Romain got back to their family a few months ago, but Lucrezia still needs care. She has a therapist. And self defence lessons with Natasha.”

To free Lucrezia in her current state would be like handing out a tasty dessert on a silver plater for those who shared Everton's preferences.

“And with you?” Peggy stepped closer, slipping between him and the desk. She sat on the edge of it, hands splayed behind her.

“I'm good at inducing fear without being a sadist.”

She was about to point out the scene she witnessed was quite sadistic, but compared to what Lucrezia had to experience from Everton's hands it seemed merely a mosquito bite.

From what Peggy understood, Steve tried to take the girl down the ladder step by step. Until she remembered not all pain equals pleasure and that fear is important to survival.

Steve has always been a stubborn bastard. Though he'd call it patience. When one lived thousands of years they could be patient about a process taking a few years – merely a blink of an eye from their perspective.

“Are you planning on doing the same to me?” Peggy asked quietly. Suddenly she couldn't hold his gaze, averting it to the side to stare at nothing in particular. “As aforementioned atonement?”

She didn't mean pain. Not a physical one, at least. But there were other ways to hurt someone. Especially if that someone hurt you deeply first.

Once upon a time she'd say Steve didn't have it in him, but a lot had changed in her absence.

Like waves washing the shore, time has eaten Steve's human surface bite by bite.

“I'm not sure you still can feel fear.” Steve's words were a quiet, silky blade driving through her chest.

He sounded... saddened on her behalf.

Until now, she hasn't considered Steve wasn't the only one who's changed. She did too. In his eyes perhaps more than Peggy wanted to realize.

But he was wrong. She felt fear. All the time.

She was scared of any news about her family, as well of never learning the truth. She was afraid every night she roamed unknown places on her own. She was scared of approaching Steve that one time she spotted him from the distance in Kiev, where he was undoubtedly searching for her. She feared passing Hungarian lands on her own.

She was bloody terrified when Zola strapped her to that metal chair.

Gritting her teeth, like she has done for the past decades, Peggy pretended to put an invisible armour on herself. Instead of answering, she deflected.

“Can you?” Cocking her head to the side, Peggy looked at Steve again.

There was a boyish streak to his handsome features. It reminded Peggy of the kindness and certain innocence she discovered in a dangerous predator who attended private painting sessions with Master Fuseli.

“Every day I'm scared of losing you.” He said softly.

Peggy's chest constricted at his words. And the way he looked at her.

“I feared something will happen to you when you were away.” Steve stood up. Slowly, he walked over, standing toe to toe with her. “Then two weeks ago I held your dying body and I was _fucking terrified_.”

He slammed both hands onto the desk, the force of it rattling both the desk and Peggy's body. He had her caged now between his arms, his head bowed. Iridescent irises flared not with anger, but heartcrushing longing.

Hesitantly, Peggy lifted her hand to Steve's face. She brushed strands of blond hair fom his forehead then traced his jawline with her fingertips.

Steve tipped his head, peering at her through his eyelashes as she caressed his face. With a small, contented sigh Peggy leaned closer. Her hand slipped to the back of his head, fingers weaving into his hair.

Peggy's mouth skimmed over his skin, warm trace along his cheek. When her lips neared his Steve pulled back. Not abruptly, but firmly enough to break the moment.

“No.” He shook his head and straightened.

She wasn't sure if he was speaking to her or more to himself. Perhaps both. Steve's fingers clenched and unclenched. He seemed to be battling his own thoughts. She watched him, frowning.

“You left, Peggy.” Steve's tone remained leveled, but the hurt in his words was unmistakable.

What she appreciated (and at the same time hated) was that Steve never hid his feelings from her. Which at times was a low blow, as it made her feel guilty.

“You don't get to march back in just like that and expect me to give in. I want- I need you to come for me.”

“I came here, didn't I?” Peggy crossed her arms over her chest. After all, she made it to his office with clear intention of finding him inside.

Steve laughed mirthlessly. Though in their current stances he didn't seem much taller, he managed to tower over her again. Purposely leaning forward to intimidate her.

“You came because _you_ wanted something. To poke at me, to fuss, or to scratch an itch, I don't know. I don't care.” With his thumb and forefinger he tilted Peggy's chin. He held her firmly even as she tried to wiggle away.

Tip of his nose slid along hers. He breathed her scent in. His own, up close more noticeable than earlier, swirled Peggy's senses.

Steve's mouth was so close, teasingly touching her lips only to withdraw before making actual contact.

“Find me when you want me, not to gain something.”

He dropped his hand and stepped aside, and Peggy felt like cut from suspension.

He reached past her and picked up the chalice. Peggy snagged it out of his grip. She downed it in one gulp, grimacing at the tainted flavor. Still not as bitter as some harsh realizations Peggy had to accept.

* * *

For days she feared standing face to face with Bucky, but the little panic that shook her dead heart when he entered her chambers the next day had nothing to do with seeing him. And all to do with the fact it wasn't Steve.

From the first day he brought her back into the stronghold Steve visited Peggy daily, despite the neverceasing tension between them. Not once did it occur to her he might stop.

“You're my donor today?” Peggy asked, swallowing the lump in her throat.

With all the emotional complications feeding from Steve induced, she should be happy at the prospect of drinking another vampire's blood. A strong vampire at that.

Bucky was near to fifteen hundred years old, a farmer honed into a warrior.

But it pricked Peggy, the mere thought of sharing blood with a vamp who wasn't Steve.

With humans it was different. Their blood was basic sustenance. Vampire's blood was power. It ignited and fed different needs.

Bucky looked at her as if she said something ridiculous. He walked inside without waiting for her further invitation and dropped into a huge, velvet armchair. He put his feet on the small, round table.

“Please,” he snorted, “he'd have both our heads off if we tried to feed on each other.”

“What are you talking about?” Peggy glared at him, even though deep inside she knew exactly what Bucky meant.

“Steve's possessiveness when it comes to you, of course.” Bucky smiled in a way that Peggy had no doubt he and Natasha were spending time together. A lot of time.

With a huff, Peggy rolled her eyes. She walked across the room to take a seat on a chaise longue. It was the first time she rested on anything other than the bed in that chamber, in a stubborn (mostly unreasonable) way refusing to get comfortable in that “new” home.

It was a chamber like many others in the stronghold, perhaps more outdated and unused than others. Though it was comfortable, it felt foreign. Like a hotel room.

She couldn't blame Steve for not letting her into her old bedroom, since it was also his. It had been his centuries before she existed.

“What do you want, Bucky?” Peggy asked. She had her ankles crossed and her hands placed lightly atop her knees, but her voice was an impatient whip unbecoming of a lady of her upbringing. As it's always been.

“Are you here to give me a speech?”

“A speech?” He cocked his head to the side.

“On my selfish acts. How irresponsible it was of me to just leave. How I broke trust and need to make amends.” It rolled out in a bitter stream, scraping on that heavy guilt Peggy had locked beneath a mask of hardiness.

Bucky moved suddenly. He took his feet off the table and sat forward, with elbows braced on his knees.

“You did what you had to do, Peggy.” He said, not a hint of accusation in his voice. “Was I annoyed that you acted in a rush, without giving us any opportunity to help you? Hell yes. But I know you needed to do that. Steve knows it too. I just wanted to check up on you, considering the both of you are absolute disasters.” He added with a wink.

“He's angry.” Peggy clawed her nails into her legs to will away the tears.

“Are you surprised?” Bucky sighed. “He was absolutely insufferable while you were gone. Fretting and pinning. And putting fear into hearts of those poor bastards you hooked up with.” At Peggy's incredulous face he chuckled - “Please. You thought he wouldn't find out?”

“How?” Peggy tried her best to move in a more or less chaotic way, never drawing attention and covering her tracks where it was needed. Not exactly with Steve in mind, but hunters and rivaling clans.

She was hotheaded, but not a reckless idiot.

While she avoided him, refused to make any contact, none of Peggy's moves was made with clear intention of hiding from him. On a few occasions she even wished he'd find her. Only later chose evasion.

To know he was trailing behind her stirred unexpected feelings. Not anger.

“Sire's bond.” Bucky explained with a shrug. “It's not exactly GPS, but its said that most powerful vampires, those really old, can trace using the blood bond. General direction, mind you. Not exact address.”

That would explain how Steve found himself in Kiev when she was there. It wasn't just luck. He was drawn to her.

Peggy frowned. There were places where she stayed much longer. A year even. Once he knew her location, he'd have found her without much difficulty. Yet he never knocked on her door.

“If he can track me,” she mused aloud, “Then why-”

“Because it was your choice.”

Bucky's smile was faint, but held an encouraging warmth.

Sometimes, when Peggy was missing her older brother, she'd go to Bucky. His presence was like having a friend, a brother and a grandma in one person – sometimes sassy and annoying, but most of the time simply comforting.

“Steve is possessive of you, which I wouldn't call a good trait. But he respects you, Peggy. He recognized when he wasn't wanted, just couldn't stop himself from poking around now and then. If it makes you feel better, he stopped following your trail about twenty years ago.”

Bucky's eyes darkened suddenly. A lethal gleam that flashed silver in his eyes – a shard of opalescence inherited from his Sire.

“I think Steve's angry with himself because of that.” Bucky locked his eyes with Peggy's. “If he followed you, he'd find you in Zola's den. He might've rescued you, or even prevent any harm happening to you.”

“If I chose to call for Steve's aid, I might've prevented my death as well.”

Peggy rubbed her hands over her face then pushed her hair back, gripping it in frustration. They were both gluttons for self-punishment, it seemed. Steve, that stupid lovely bastard, allowed her freedom though he could simply pull on that leash any time he wanted.

His words echoed back to her.

He wanted her to come for him.

All these years he kept nearby, hoping she'd reach out. He waited now, too.

  
  


* * *

Peggy chose the time when most of the stronghold was asleep to stride on her walk of shame, though truthfully she felt none as she took the labyrinth of corridors leading to Steve's chambers.

They twisted up and down, deep into the core of the mountain on the side of which the stronghold was carved. Far from the rooms of the rest of the court. Without any windows, only sparse array of scones lighting the way.

Like a path to an ancient monster's lair.

Wine red of Peggy's long peignoir floated around her like delicate seafoam – it was one of her old belongings that Steve has kept, which she remembered he liked very much. Especially when she wore nothing underneath it.

The closer she got to Steve's bedroom the warmer stone floor beneath her bare feet got. Centuries ago, when Peggy awed at the wonder of warm walls within a cold mountain, Steve had told her that earth cared for its habitants if they treated her with respect.

Peggy's steps faltered slightly when she took the last turn and found herself in front of massive, double door. Panels of dark wood and iron junctures, with two main reinforcements shaped into horizontal fleur de lis.

She hesitated only for a second before pushing the door open with some effort.

A chill ran down her spine when she stepped inside.

Dark walls shimmered with nuggets of gems. Soft, handwoven carpets covered the floor. There was only one source of natural light in a form of a wide, round dome serving as a skylight. It looked outside the steep side of the mountain; a hidden window among a crown of spiked peaks.

Steve was up before the door closed behind her.

He was naked.

Shrouded in semi-darkness he seemed an ancient sculpture in a sacred temple that she trespassed to drink in his magnificence.

She glanced past him and around the chamber. Barely anything changed. His bed was still barbarian. Big, four poster of darkest wood; covered in cream silks and linen, and softest fur pelts.

Peggy found herself enjoying many conveniences of modern times, but there was something to be said about being spread out on fur pelts. It catered to certain, wild appetites she gained after transformation.

Or, perhaps, she craved it before becoming a vampire. Steve only unleashed it.

Slowly, she walked towards him. Steve's gaze trailed over her body – Peggy's soft, pale skin visible through the delicate chiffon. Peignoir's cut parted enough to let him glimpse dark hair in the valley below her belly.

Peggy dared to step close, really close. Enough that she had to tilt her head back to look Steve in the eye.

A part of her feared he might reject her again, dent pride which already shook stripped of its delusional defensive mechanisms. But the hunger in Steve's eyes showed he wanted her as much as she needed him.

In a graceful move Peggy disrobed, chiffon falling soundlessly to the floor.

Steve's gaze slid over her body once again. Its intensity sent a jolt through her body, tingling at the very tips of her fingers and stiffening her nipples.

Unabashed, Peggy touched a single digit to his chest. She trailed it down. Muscles in Steve's abdomen quivered when a pointy fingernail scratched along the path of darker hair leading south.

Peggy looked up at Steve as she kept drawing lines with her finger; lower and lower. A serpentine vein running down the V line of his pelvis heated beneath her fingertip. She could almost feel his blood rushing.

“As sexy your wrists are, I'm bored of sucking on them.” She said in a hushed voice.

Tip of her tongue poked at the corner of mouth when Steve's cock twitched at her suggestion. His nostrils flared as she touched him.

If he grabbed her ass and pulled her close, she could feel him hardening against her belly. She always liked that sensation.

Steve stayed unmoved, but his voice was a low growl when he spoke -

“If you feed from me now, I will bite back.”

It was a dangerous threat. Not to her safety, but to their hearts.

Peggy moved closer, her breasts pressing into Steve's chest. She wrapped her fingers around him firmly, pleased with a gasp he didn't bother to hide.

“Promise?” She purred, nipping at his chin.

Steve had his hand in Peggy's hair in no time, yanking her head back. His mouth claimed hers in an almost painful kiss. Sharp canine nicked Peggy's lip, his tongue licked over the wound. He sucked on it until she whimpered.

She clenched her thighs, feeling heat pooling between them. Her fingers tightened around Steve. Curved vein on the underside of his cock pulsed against her palm. It spurred Peggy's moves, setting an impatient rhythm.

With a squeak, Peggy loosened her grip on him to catch Steve's shoulders when he suddenly picked her up.

He climbed onto the bed not once faltering in kissing her. She'd be breathless if she was alive.

He sat on his heels in the centre, pulling Peggy to straddle him. Steve's thigh was thick, muscles hard. Which caused a solid friction that had her moaning. She dug her fingers hard into Steve's shoulders to give herself additional leverage to rub against his leg.

She kissed along Steve's jaw then down his throat. Parted lips left wet trails until her focus zeroed on the side of his neck, her tongue fervently licking over his artery. Scent of his blood and skin intensified, inciting Peggy's frenzied desire.

 _Fuck_ , she was already so wet.

Her hips rocked faster, chasing satiation. Steve's hands on her ass urged her on.

“Come on, Peggy,” he rasped and tilted his head. “Take it.”

With a little growl she sank her teeth into Steve's neck. His blood rushed down her throat, spreading buzzing heat through her body.

Steve pushed her hips harder against his thigh and it was enough to tip Peggy over the edge.

She moaned, gurgling on his blood. One of Steve's hands cradled the back of Peggy's head until she stopped trembling and her lips moved over the bite again. Little licks and puffs of whimpers.

Steve's thigh was covered in her slick. She angled her hips slightly, easing the pressure on her oversensitive clit. One of Peggy's hands drifted down Steve's body, fingernails scratching his skin.

She touched his cock again. Gently, more a caress than impatient demand she demonstrated earlier.

“I want to take this too,” Peggy hummed, punctuating it with another flick of her tongue over his carotid.

Steve's hips jerked involuntarily. He was sure if she closed her hand around him now, he'd spill all over her fingers. Normally he wouldn't mind, but Steve wanted to draw it out this time.

“Later.” He grunted and flipped Peggy onto her back.

Taste of his own blood lingered on her lips when he kissed her. In a very primitive way it pleased Steve that she tasted of him.

He liked it reversed, too.

So he moved down her body, kissing and nipping. He spread Peggy's thighs and took his time just looking at her flushed and dripping. Something that used to embarrass her at the very beginning. Until she discovered how weak the sight of her makes him and grew bold in her seduction.

Peggy fisted silks covering the bed as Steve blew on her swollen folds. Then his head dipped lower and his tongue worked her into madness.

He thrust two then three of his fingers into her, curling them in a way that made Peggy's back arch. Brought her to near climax twice, withdrawing at the last moment. She pleaded and cursed him in a few languages.

Feeling her tense and tighten, Steve added the pressure of his thumb on her clit while mouthing lavish kisses across her inner thigh. His other arm hooked around Peggy's leg, holding her in place.

The moment Peggy cried out her pleasure Steve bit into her femoral artery.

Her blood always tasted extra sweet when she orgasmed.

When aftershocks subsided and Peggy went lax, Steve licked up her body, leaving smears of slick and blood as he went. Peggy's fingers wove into his hair. She yanked on it with a pitiful protest when he tormented one of her nipples. Unrepentant, he switched to the other breast.

Peggy urged him upwards, so she could kiss him again. It was languid this time. Savoring mixed flavors and sensation of bodies moving together.

When Steve finally thrust into her it was deliberately slow, to relish in the feeling of it. He stopped once bottoming out. Stopped kissing her too.

They just stared at each other for a moment that seemed to stretch too long, causing Peggy's body to strain in growing frustration. Then he grinned at her – that flash of cheeky charm she adored; and started to move. Really move.

Peggy forgot that sex could be so rough and intimate at the same time.

He took her splayed like a conquered prey until she keened. Then rolled onto his back, leaving the reins in Peggy's hands.

Before she pushed him to completion Steve flipped them over again. Hand around her throat that tightened as the one trapping one of her wrists when overstimulated she tried to claw at him.

Peggy's hair cascaded over the edge of the mattress, swaying in rhythm with each hard thrust. Tears trickled down her face. Physical overstimulation collided with a burst of feelings, drowning Peggy in a climax that had her screaming.

Steve finished in harsh, jerky moves, muttering Peggy's name over and over. A picture of a mess himself – with vivid marks, bloody fingerprints and tousled hair – he crushed Peggy with his weight.

Though she liked the feeling it became too much after a while. Peggy pushed against Steve's chest until he complied and rolled them onto the side, both of them groaning when the movement caused his cock to slid out of her heat.

He reached around to pull a rumpled sheet of linen over them. Peggy snuggled closer, her hands clasped over Steve's chest.

They stayed awake and silent, just looking at each other. Awkwardness one could expect was absent. Simply, it was easy to be together again. Even if not everything was resovled.

“This is your atonement.” Steve said a while later, playing with a lock of Peggy's dark hair. “Staying with me.”

“Atonement is supposed to be a punishment, Steve.” Peggy smiled at him, curling her toes into his calf.

“Staying with you is no hardship-” her smile faltered. “I'm sorry I made you believe the opposite.”

Peggy knew some wounds needed more time to heal. She was also certain she'd try her hardest to be here for the process of healing. Even though she suspected at times it would tempt her to hide again.

At least reconciling was most pleasant.

Steve's hand traveled down her side and over her hip. He palmed her ass. Landed a soft smack to it, too, which had Peggy yelping and glaring at him. Steve grinned.

“You'll have to make it up to me.” He teased, brushing his lips over hers. “For eternity.”

THE END

  
  



End file.
